


A Brush With Potter

by MaesterChill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Presents, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Toy Brooms, crafty harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 09:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: Draco NEEDS to get his hands on the latest toy racing broom for Teddy. Trust a certain messy-haired Gryffindor to thwart his plans.





	A Brush With Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erin_Riwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Riwen/gifts).



> This short fic was written to cheer up our darling Suzi, while she is in hospital recuperating from surgery. Sending so much love and cuddles and get well wishes, honey. xxxxx  
>   
> Thanks to the unstoppable Tami for being a legendary organiser.  
>   
> Thank you to [MalenkayaCherepakha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/) for the beta.

Draco rushed along Diagon Alley, pulling the hood of his robes up against the April drizzle. The shop closed at 5pm and it was twenty to five already. They’d be closed tomorrow—as they were every Sunday—so it was his only opportunity to get Teddy the gift he'd begged for at morning tea.

He’d have gone to the shop as soon as Teddy’d mentioned it if Auntie hadn't beseeched him to help her with her tax returns. And _they_ were in such a shambles that he ended up being late for his lunch date with Pansy. Pansy, who'd already started on the gin by the time he arrived, and wasted no time chastising him _ad nauseum_ , before launching into the tale of her calamitous date the night before with Xavier the Spanish Astronomer. By the time he finally left, after his cashmere-clad shoulder had been well and truly cried upon, she was three sheets to the wind, and had spilled her coffee in his lap—instead of down her throat—where its sobering effects were thoroughly wasted. All this meant that, following him Apparating Pansy home and putting her to bed, and then Flooing back to his apartment to get changed, there was precious little time left before the shops closed.

So here Draco found himself, doing what he detested most: last minute shopping.

He reached Quality Quidditch Supplies and headed straight for the toy brooms section. He scanned around the shelves and spotted the sign: The Zephyr 500. And there was one left, thank Merlin for small mercies.

His brow wrinkled when the one remaining miniature broom started to vibrate, and his mouth fell open as it lifted itself up off the shelf and, after a small wobble, whizzed off to the right. Draco wheeled around to track its progress, only to gape in horror as the broom flew straight into the outstretched hand of none other than a triumphant-looking Harry Potter.

“Oi!” was all Draco could think of to say. _Good grief, since when had he become as inarticulate as a Weasley?_

“Hey, Malfoy,” Potter said brightly. “Long time no see.”

“Hand over that broom, Potter. I was here first.”

“Sorry, Malfoy. I need this one for a gift. There are plenty of other types to choose from. Besides,” he grinned, “I think you're a good enough flier to have a grown-up racing broom now.”

“Oh, ha bloody ha,” Draco grumbled. “It's obviously not for me. I insist you give it to me!”

“You can insist all you like; I got the Zephyr fair and square and I'm not giving it up.”

“Potter, you utter arse, I'm—”

“No need to argue, gentlemen! We'll be getting more in on Monday,” called Suzi, the shop's friendly proprietor.

But that was no good, Teddy's birthday was tomorrow. Draco _had_ to have this broom.

“It is imperative that I have this broom, Potter. Teddy begged me for this exact model.” He took a deep breath; he’d have to bargain with the stubborn oaf. “Potter,” he began again, “I've had a nightmare of a day and I really don't know if I can cope with another setback. What will it take? I know you don't need Galleons. How about I give you a free financial consultation? I can advise you on suitable investments to keep the Saviour’s fortune growing, and safe for generations of future Potters.” And didn't that thought make his stomach lurch.

“It’s for Teddy?” Potter asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes, it is, and he'll be so very disappointed if I don't have it for him at his party tomorrow. You couldn't do that to a child on his 6th birthday, Potter, could you?”

Draco loved Teddy so much and couldn't bear the thought of making him unhappy. He just hoped appealing to Potter’s better nature would work.

Potter hummed in thought and Draco took the chance to have a proper look at him. He hadn't seen The Chosen Chump in six years, outside of the odd gathering or function, where Potter was usually surrounded by sycophants, and spared no more than a nod for Draco. His hair was as wild as usual, but in a charming sort of way, that framed sparkling green eyes, two bright jewels set in the glowing bronze of his skin. His scrawny schoolboy body had filled out nicely and he could detect some lean muscle beneath the navy blue Puddlemere t-shirt that stretched invitingly across his pecs and biceps.

Just my type, he thought to himself ruefully, and always has been. Pity he's such a mulish git.

“I'll let you have the broom,” Potter said.

 _Thank Salazar!_ Perhaps not so mulish after all.

“I knew you'd see sense—”

“But there _is_ something I want… and it's not advice on what to do with my gold.”

“Name it.” Draco worried at the fabric of his sleeve—there was a sodding thread coming loose—and wondered what Potter could possibly want.

“Dinner. At mine. Tomorrow… after the party.”

_Dinner at Potter’s house? He can't mean a date?_

“Dinner at your house? You mean a date?”

“Yep. I'll cook. You bring some posh wine. No need to get dressed up.”

“I’d— I'd like that.” Draco smiled hesitantly, as something bright and warm unfurled in his chest. “But you should know, I _always_ dress for dinner.”

Potter laughed at that, a deep golden sound that went down to Draco's toes and made his hair on his neck prickle.

“Wait,” said Draco, “does that mean you'll be at the party too?"

“Of course,” Potter grinned. “Teddy’s my godson, you _know_ that. And I'm always at his birthday parties. Although I'm hardly surprised you forget. You seem to make a point of staying as far away from me as possible.”

 _Ah. So Potter had noticed._ Draco had honestly been too self conscious—and anxious of blurting something out that he'd later regret—to be anywhere near Potter.

“So, hang on, the gift you were looking for, that's for tomorrow? For Teddy?”

“Yup.”

“Well why didn't you say? I'd have happily let you give the Zephyr to him if I'd known, I could have just as easily bought him a Quidditch strip or something. All I was worried about was him not getting the broom. I don't care _who_ gives it to him.”

“Yeah. I realised that,” Potter was still smiling mildly, the infuriating prat... the infuriatingly _handsome_ prat, “and I feel the same way. I don't mind if you're the one to give it to him.”

“So why the hell didn't you—”

“Well, if I’d fessed up, I wouldn't have snagged myself a date with an attractive blond, now would I?”

“Harry Potter, you sly snake!” Draco was shocked. “You know, you really should have sorted Slytherin.”

Potter smirked, “Well… funny you should say that. Why don't you pay up for the broom and I’ll tell you what the Sorting Hat said to me when I was eleven…”


End file.
